In the Service of the Greatest King
by The Righterzpen
Summary: Switched this one up a bit. Took the "story slot" for "Redcoat in Fenway Park" and turned it into a spot for a bunch of one shots about the American Revolution. Our "Redcoat" is still here, only to be joined by (mostly) other "Redcoats" (and Tories, Patriots and American Indians)! Men and women on all sides of this conflict, who are really "In the Service of the Greatest King!"
1. Chapter 1 Redcoat in Fenway Park

_Got a brain storm for a story after doing some research on the American Revolution. We've all heard about "A Yankee in King Arthur's Court" but how about "A Rdcoat in Fenway Park"? What happens when a drummer from the 4th light infantry regiment finds himself on the road back to Boston after the skirmishes of Lexington and Concord... except it's 237 years later?_

* * *

_I've always loved history and have endeavored to make this story as historically accurate to the events and lives of people during the American Revolution. Though much of the historical information is drawn out of my own memory, in order to write this story; I have researched life in the colonial British army, as well as what had actually happened during the battles of Lexington and Concord. So, to the best of what is currently known of the historical facts, this story is accurate._

_Admittedly though, I have taken poetic licence with the language usage, grammar and writing style of the colonial English. I am well aware that the typical British solider did not utilize his every day English as the characters in this story have been presented. A high percentage of regular soldiers would not have been fully literate; (i.e. able to read __**and **__write. The typical colonist of the day would have been better educated than the average infantry soldier of the British army, as availability of schooling in the colonies was considerably better than that of England.) Despite this though, the words themselves and much of the style would be familiar to colonial America. _

_Although the setting is of real times, places and some actual historical personalities are mentioned, the main characters in this story are purely fictitious._

* * *

_**A Redcoat in Fenway Park**_

_Well, we've all heard about "A Yankee in King Arthur's Court", but how about a Redcoat in Fenway Park? What happens when a musician from the British 4__th__ light infantry division falls through a time warp on the scramble back to Boston just after the skirmishes at Lexington and Concord? When everything about America is so different from the colony he remembers; what could this British drummer find he has in common with a 21__st__ Century American teen, other than the timeless Redeemer who's regenerated both of them! _

* * *

"Hurry, oh beloved brother Joseph... who's nigh to be sold as a slave. Wake up!" Patrick taunted as he prodded me with me own drumstick.

"Hey!" I hollered at yea mischievous boy. "Where is your bugle. It is thus a great hour to wrap it 'round thy neck!"

"All right youngens." Paul scolded us. "We having orders to ready ourselves and move out."

"Now?" I objected meagerly. "But I just got me to sleep!"

"Well, you know, as is said - no rest for the wicked."

"Nor the men of the king's army." Pinions added his two bits.

"So where is this they say we are going?" Patrick asked.

"To seize the rebel storehouses at Concord." Paul answered.

"Or maybe just to start a war?" Pinions laughed ironically.

"Don't say that." Paul huffed. "Is not the business I'd rather be in."

"Oh yes, we all know what business you would rather be in!" Pinions smirked his indications, accompanied by obscene hand gestures.

"Shut it." Paul muttered. "Before me be stickin me musket up yer business."

* * *

So thus was the start of a long and perilous adventure. That is if you wish to call it thus. I reckon it was about 9 o'clock when we began mustering ourselves for our appointed time in history. The shot heard 'round the world, twas the dawn of the colonists revolt against his majesty of England, king George.

Me soldier friend Paul and our drum major Sir Herbert Mims oft said that it was all of the times appointed of his Lord's Christ had called men too. Some to war, some to peace and some of us to turning points in the history of the world. Such we live in perilous times; but do we ever know that? Times of what the history books say about us though can oft bend your imagination. I could have nare speculated though on how bowed me imagination could twist. That is not until I'd met Rowel; but this be quite another matter altogether.

So we of our portion of the 5th Regiment of foot, set out that even from the commons of Boston to go on the hunt for rebel stores of munitions and weapons. This was not expected to be much more than an exercise in exhausting thee regulars of his king's army. After all, what jolly young drummer does not yearn to go hence in the midst of the bell tole to march 17 nigh or so miles in pursuit of anything nether than a good meal and an long nap when he returns to Boston? I've been on these quests before. Just finished one not hither long ago. Tis nothing to see but ceaseless farms, trees, indignant colonists and copious stores of mud!

Despite the endless plodding and mindless drumming of the same marching strain, this colony of America is quite a sight to see. There is so much more of the natural wildness here than has likely existed in London for hundreds of years hence. Yes it's quite snowy and cold much of the hour, but me'd rather be dealing with the new world winter than an ill tempered orphan master. At least thee soldiers treat me fairly; well, much of them do.

These first battles of this rebellion which had sparked so many other revolutions through out farther history, really wasn't much to speak of in it's time. The fuse that lit the powder keg maybe? And yes, it was certainly injurious for all of us trying to race our way back to the mother arms of Boston in the days following April 18th. It is debated of history that 73 of the king's men were killed, 174 wounded and 53 went missing. Well, here it is you are about to find out how a lost drummer is hence found.

* * *

_**April 28, 2012 (somewhere in the back woods around Concord Massachusetts)**_

"Rowel, have you seen my shoes?"

"No."

"Well come on, help me find them or I'm going to be late for the dance. This is my first formal and I don't want to miss it."

"Ro'sie, you have three hours before this dance begins. Chill out!"

"Momma's going to yell at you if you don't help me!"

"Momma aint even here!"

_Yeah, so she's not._ "But aren't you just itching to get rid of me so...so, you can play your stupid video games in peace?"

_Lord of the Rings is not stupid. _"OK I'll help you. I'll go look upstairs." _Yeah, who doesn't want to get rid of a pesky older sister for a few hours anyways. _"Ro'salita someone's at the door!"

"Who is it? It's not Marcus is it?"

"No, not unless he's really short and wearing a red coat."

_Red coat? What red coat? Redcoat? Why's there a redcoat at my door? Another MIA reinactor? I guess I better see what he wants?_

"What's the matter kid, you lost? The visitor's center is down the road, that way... about five miles."

"I'm sorry m' lady, but me seems to have gotten unfettered from me regiment."

_Unfettered? Oh God, the little urchin is bowing? Kid you take this waaaay too seriously._ "Yikes, what happened to you? You been reinacting in the mud puddles? Aren't those costumes expensive?... Hey, are...are you OK?"

"M' lady?"

"Are you hurt? You're bleeding!"

"I do apologize for me appearance m' lady, but you must know the rebels are about and looking as the fine loyalist you must be... Uh..."

"Kid, I think you need a doctor... " _She is staring queerly at me._ "Come in a minute."

"ROWEL GET DOWN HERE!"

"Oh Geez, sorry kid, don't run away. I didn't mean to scare ya."

"I DIDN'T FIND THEM YET!"

"FORGET THE SHOES, COME HERE... NOW!"

"Sisters man, can't make up yer min... Who is _**that?**_"

"I don't know?"

"Man what happened to you? You been reinacting the real thing?"

"I don't think he's a reinactor. Go get some towels."

"Yeah, good idea Ro'sie."

"Wh...wha... what's yer name; uh, little drummer boy. Come on into the kitchen, maybe you better sit down? How old are you anyways?"

"Uh? Sorry m' lady. I...uh... not feeling well a'tall." _What is this place? Good Lord, where am I? The lady is wearing a gown, but... the young man, or is he an elder lad? He looks to be betwixt the lady and me-self? Is that some sort of new bed clothes and where's his dressing robe? And... how is it this house is so warm? I don't see any fires? Where are their fires? _

"Here Ro'sie - towels."

"Yeah, thanks. Here...Ich.." _She is trying to usurp me drum?_

"Awfully possessive of that thing aren't you?"

"Ro'selita, do you know what happened to colonial British soldiers who lost their equipment?"

"Do I want to know... Mr. History."

"Probably not."

"OK good, now help me get him... in there." _The lady is ushering me to... their parlor? What is this strange place? A cook's kitchen? Where is the cook hence? And where is the fire? Again? Where is the fire? _

"Yeah, good idea. What's your name?"

"Yeah little drummer boy, what _**is**_ your name... and how old are you anyways?"

"Me name?"

"Yeah, you name?" _The lady, she is giggling at me?_

"Me name is William, William Joseph."

"And how old is William Joseph?" _The lady requires as she labors to clean me dreadfully dirty face. _

"Thirteen?" _I hope this doth please her, for... I am confused? What a queer dwelling._

"Thirteen? Dang boy, you look like yer nine! And what you doin' in the army at thirteen anyways? Does your mother know where you are?"_ She doth smile at me and... and scold me? She doth not look quite like she is believing I am telling her the truth?. Is she pleased or not?_

"Ro'sie."_ He is poking her._ "He's probably an orphan." _He is whispering._ "They could join the musicians corps at ten."

_She is looking queerly at him now. _

"Well thank you Mr. History." _She is laughing again?_ "Ten?... Damn!"

_Such language unbecoming of a lady. What is it with such queer colonists? Are they mad?_

"Ro'sie stop cursing. You know momma would not approve. Look at the way he's lookin' at you!"

"Ahh, let 'im look. There's more where that came from." _She leans over and whispers to the lad again. _"Should I drop an F-bomb on him?"

"I wouldn't."

"You don't think he's heard worse in the army?"

"Probably, but yer not in the army."

_Women...in his majesty's army?_

"Well just for that, maybe I'll join!"

_I suddenly feel ill. _"But m' lady, you can't join the king's army."

"Than I'll join the queen's army. Hey, if _**you**_ can join the army at ten, than I can join the army."

"But m' lady, you don't want to be joining the army."

"And why's that?" _She is tapping her thirsting foot at me._ "Although I'm sure you probably really didn't want to either, but..." _She doth mutter._

"Because the army is... army men and you is...is not, a men." _Me stammers in such stupor. _

"Yeah Ro'salita, you is not a men." _He is laughing._

"And you is a dork. Shut up."

_I do not understand these... colonists? These strange sounds I hear? Cackling and voices and...is it that they have witches even so?_ _How do I get out of this place? Must I have to awaken! Did me hit me head? Is this a dream? I have nare seen such things?_

"Rowel, go turn the TV off please."

"OK, yeah, good idea. He's probably wondering what that noise is. Probably thinkin' this place is haunted."

_That boy just laughed and about ghosts too? Is that what these are?_

"Ehhh, speaking of hauntings, Rowel?...Do you think that's what he is?"

"What?"

"A ghost?"

"Ro'sie, you just touched him. I don't think he's a ghost."

_How is it they think me for a ghost? _

"What else could he be than? I mean, that was what... a hundred years ago?"

"The American Revolution? Try two hundred years ago; actually 237 years and ten days ago, from the battle of Lexington. Ro'salita, you really need to pay attention in history class."

_Two hundred and thirty seven years ago? American Revolution? Is that what they have hence named this dreadful affair?_

"Well if he's not a ghost, why's he all white?"

"Probably because he just saw one. Ro'sie, we just told him the war he left was 230 years ago. I think that would turn me white too!"

"Two hundred and thirty seven years?"_ That can not be? Man does not travel through time Lord, doth he? _

"Yes." _The young man is sighing._ "The American Revolution ended in 1781, when General Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown."

"Cornwallis?" _This name reckons familiar with me? Me thinks he be in Parliament; Yey?_

"Yes, Cornwallis was a British General. He took over for Gage when the Continental Army escaped from the British out of New York City and Gage waited till spring to attack Charleston. By that time, it was too late. The French had joined the war on the side of the American colonists and since the war became unpopular in the British Parliament; it ended soon after that."

_How could this be Lord? Is it not egregious sin to rebel against the civil authorities Your Lordship has set up? They are looking queerly at me again. I do not understand this place? Who be these people? _

"So... if ye be not a colony of the king? Uh... who's colony be ye; the French?"

_They doth mock me question? I stand to raise me stick!_

"Hey, take it easy there George the Third! We're allies now, have been for the past hundred or so years." _He doth prevent me chastising him._

"Yeah, we saved yer butts from the Russians in the Civil War!"

"That was the Nazis in World War Two Ro'sie."

"Yeah, I knew that." _She is giggling at the elder lad._ "Just testing you...Mr. History!"

"So... America is, as you say... a nation?"

"Yes, we are our own nation now and have been for... two hundred and thirty two years." _He is counting in his head. Keen fellow!_

"How is this? How could this be?" _Me sits me-self down._ "We are the greatest empire on Earth." _I find this as I must be gaping for breath because I can not believe what it is they are revealing to me._

"Not any more you aint honey!" _The lady is laughing._

"Well, a lot of things have happened in 230 years."

_Two hundred and thirty years, two hundred and thirty years. Me brain makes no sense of such nonsense? What year would that make this now? Two hundred and thirty years? This can not be? If they be a nation now? What of me mother land? Oh, we suddenly hath...an... empire sized headache? We feel dizzy. Me thinks we are going to be sick? _

"Yer not going to pass out on us are ya?" _The lady is looking at me._

"Think we should call an ambulance?"

BEE, BEE, BEE, BE-BEEP...

"AHHHHHHH!" _I jump for refuge beneath their table. _

BEE BEE, BEE, BE-BEEP...

"Not if the cell phone freaks him out. Imagine what a hospital would do!

BEE BEE, BEE, BE-BEEP... "Hello?"

"Hey there... eh, little redcoat. Don't worry we've got Post Traumatic Stress in our century too. My cousin's got it. Afghanistan you know...er... maybe not!"

_I be not a coward. I be not a coward. I be not a coward. Oh Lord help me!_ _Me mind is sucked into darkness. _

"Ro'sie, who is it?"

"Shhh. Shhhh. It's Marcus!"

"Tell him we need Doc Stan."

"He's a veterinarian Rowel!"

"So... cats, dogs, horses,... British drummers - what's the difference?"

"Oh God, Oh God, Oh God - I just thought of something. Marcus, Marcus honey I got to go. Uhhh, ... our, our cat is sick. We need doc Stan."

"Ro'sie - He's bleeding all over the floor. I need_** help!**_"

"I know, I know. I'll call you back later. We have to get Doc Stan. Love you sweety. OK - I promise, I'll call you back in a bit. OK - bye."

"Oh Rowel, I just thought of something? We were talking about this... this disease in biology yesterday. It's suppose to be dead. What if he has the...the bubonic plague?"

"Ro'sie, let's worry about the bleeding first! Give me that towel... please!"

"Oh yeah, yeah - sorry... but... but what do we do if... he _**is**_ sick. I mean they haven't vaccinated anyone for that since...like... the 1950's. What if we get it...and... and we spread it like ... to the whole state?"

"Ro'selita, that wasn't the bubonic plague, that was small pox and if he has that and none of us leave the house than... than... that's treatable and the rest of Massachusetts is safe. OK?"

"Alright, Alright, sorry. Should I call doctor Stan?"

"Well, let's wait a few more minutes. Why don't you go get cleaned up. You got a little bit of blood on your dress."

"Oh? Oh, I guess I do? I'll get it later...ahhh, after I get the first aid kit. Yeah, I'm a sox fan!"

"A sox fan?"

"Yeah Rowel, like you said: Red sox Red coats - what's the difference? Ehhhh... I'll go get the first aid kit!"

"Good idea!"

_Me face is throbbing as me looks at the elder lad._ "Uh?" _There are two of him? _

"Uh, uh, what happen?"

"You passed out dude...I think?"

"Dude? What be an dude?"

"Never mind."

"OK, OK Here it is - first aid kit."

"OK Ro'sie. Thank you. Do you know where the wilderness kit is?"

"The camping one?"

"Yeah."

"Why do you need that one?"

"I think it's still got anti-biotic shots in it from cousin Jesus? Plus I know there's epi-pens in there."

"Oh yeah, good idea. Let's drug 'im!"

* * *

_Is warm in here. Is the first time we are warm in... six months?_ "Paul, Paul. Where are you?" _I open me eyes. This lamp is queer? _

"Doc, he's awake."

"Be right there."

_I hear voices. Has this queer dream finally ended? Did we find our way back to Boston? Why does this lamp not look so right? I sit up. This is an house? A warm house? How is it this house be so warm? Where is their fire? I don't see their fire? I still... can't find their fire?_

"Hello William. Ro'silita and Rowel tell me your name is William."

"Yes Sir."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Uh?"

"I'm Doctor Stan by the way. Ro'selita and Rowel told me you just showed up on their doorstep a couple of days ago. We're all trying to figure out where you came from and how you got here? Do you remember?"

"Huh, Where's me regiment?"

_The man sighs. _"I don't know where your regiment is, but I'm not quite sure I don't half believe the story their telling me? When I came here a few days ago, you were wearing a very dirty colonial British army uniform; which...from what I can tell, is historically accurate. You've got scars all over your body and obviously, you could use more to eat. I looked at your teeth and bones and that. Ro'selitia told me that you said you were thirteen years old? And yeah, you're kind of small for thirteen, but in the 18th Century, that seems about right to me. I also tested your blood though, and apparently at some point in your life you've had small pox. Is that correct?"

"Yes Sir... you know this from... me blood?" _Me head is spinning._

"Yes, I know this from your blood." _The man is sighing again._ "When ever any of us gets sick, there's stuff in our blood that fights the illness off. Then, depending on the illness; there is other stuff in our blood that stops us from getting it again. Well, the last known case of naturally occurring small pox _**on the planet...**_ was back in 1977, some thirty plus years ago now. So, either someone is pulling a really elaborate hoax, or you somehow came from the past?

_The past? Is this nightmare not over? Me head still will not cease me spinning, so is best to stay on the pillow._ "Ouhhhhhwwwaaaaa." _All me body throbs and folds up as an rusty pocket knife. Who is thus who doth wail? Tis shame I bring to me-self and me regiment. The king's soldiers shant nay blubber like infants. I hear the voices in me head. _

"Doc?" _Me hears a kindly voice._ "What's wrong with him?"

"Well, lot of things Row." _Me hears another man?_ "Kind of like Diego. What if he got stuck in Afghanistan and couldn't get out? Nothings familiar to this kid, he's got no clue who we are and everyone he's ever known is long dead."

"Besides the fact he'd taken quite a beating from someone?" _Me hears the man who calls himself doctor._ "He's all black and blue."

"So Doc? What do you think we should do? Call the cops?" _Me hears a woman's voice?_

"Well, eventually I think we're going to have to notify some sort of authority. I wouldn't do that just yet though. Looking at the shape he's in and no real verifiable identity? You don't want to be accused of human trafficking."

"But he's English. What Mexican traffics English kids?"

_The man is laughing._ "I know, but still."

"No Melita. I've worked too hard to get here. I don't want INS yanking my green card."

"And besides the fact they'd stick him in a psych hospital and claim he's delusional because he thinks he was in the American Revolution."

"Well, how are _**we**_ sure this is not some sort of hoax?"

"I'm not sure what we think this is?"

"So what? We wait it out?"

"Yeah dad, let's keep him."

"Rowel, he's not a dog." _Me hears a man laughing again. _

_Me opens me eyes. _

"Sir, if this not be 1775? What year be it?"

"2012"

"Two hundred and thirty seven years?"

"Yep." _The doctor sighs. _

"Where is this?"

"You're in Concord Massachusetts. Same place you left, as far as we know. You're just two hundred and thirty years later." _This other man is chuckling._

"Kind of like a Yankee is King Arthur's court; now we've got a redcoat in Fenway Park."

"Fenway Park? Is this what they hence name... the Boston commons?"

"No." _The man is laughing. _"Fenway Park is a baseball stadium."

"Base...ball? You mean stool ball?"

"Stool ball? I'm not sure what that is?" _The man is holding his finger up? He is consulting with the elder lad they call Rowel._ "Hey Mr. History?"

"What?" _He is smiling. _

"When was baseball invented?"

"Not sure, the first written reference to it was in an English children's poem book in 1744."

"Thanks Google!" _The man is laughing. _

"You're welcome!"

"Rowel? They call him...google?"

"No, it's a joke. You'll learn soon enough what Google is."

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"What... What of England? Doth me mother country still subsist?"

"Subsist?" _The younger lady is hence looking round her elder. They all be dressed queerly? _

"Yes." _The lad smiles._ "England still exists and matter of fact, from before your time till now; it has never been invaded."

"No." _His news brightens_ _me countenance. _"This be good; but tell me please? Who be her king?"

"Queen!"_ The young lady doth correct._

"Yes Queen." _The lad agrees. _"Elizabeth the second. She has been the queen since just after World War Two."

"World War...as in...Armageddon?"

"No, but close." _The lad chuckles. _

"That's another thing that has changed a lot in two hundred and thirty years: the face of warfare."

"And what of your...colony nation? What be her name?"

"The United States of America."

"Be it, be she an empire?"

"Not really, but sort of."

"This _**is**_ a big country." _The lady nods. _

"And Britain? Has she seen more wars?"

_The man called Doctor is hence smiling at me. _"Let's see if we can get some soup or something like that in you before we talk about the politics of the last 200 years. OK?"

"How about tacos!" _The lady is laughing. _

"Ro'sie?" _Her elder smiles. _

"But momma, he can have soup. I want tacos."

"OK, you can help me."

_Me sits up and looks after these new... Americans? They all be withdrawing to retire hence maybe? Only the elder lad remains. _

"Excuse please?" _Me asks politely while seeking out their window._ "Me hath need of an... cup of water?... please."

_The lad giggles._ "Yeah, cup of water. Come on, I'll show ya. It aint far."

_I look queerly at him as he steadies me wobbling knees. We totter hence out the room and down the hall. The lad halts and pushes a door open. Me peers inside. Tis a room filled with... dimly familiar yet strange apparatus. The lad holds an hand out, then reaches hence and flicks an lever. Light fills the room. I gaze dimly at him. He smiles fretfully and lends a brisk demonstration. He commences to an... wash basin? Is that what that is? What is this? How is he getting... is that water? How is he getting water from that... that... fountain thing?_

"Hey? Where you going little drummer boy?" _The young lady unexpectedly looms on the steps. She comes to me and peers into the room where the lad doth stand. _

"He's never seen indoor plumbing. Wonder of all wonders!" _The boy is smiling._ "Here." _He is holding me a cup of...yes, it __**is**__ water! I wobble to retrieve it. How is it they do this? _

"In Jesus name Amen!" _The lady is giggling. _

"Yes, Amen. Thank you."

_The boy is looking at me. He seems... benumbed. He gets this wink in his eye; a twinkle. He smiles as he reaches hence and nudges me toward the basin. There I look up and see our images reflected in a looking glass. The reality of such things grabs me imagination. The centuries be staring back at us. Two boys, two hundred and thirty years apart. One jolly with vigor and health, the other...? He be so small and thin and frail, a bruised, battered ghost gazing back at me. A child who sincerely looks as he'd lost this... American Revolution?_

"Rowel?"

"Yeah?"

"How many years are you?"

"You mean my age?"

"Yey?"

"I..I'm thirteen too."

_The lad recedes from view. He lightly tappeth me arm. I turn to him. He points to the large basin set upon the floor. He reaches hence and flicks another lever. The water in the basin swirls down the drain. I peer befuddled at him. He demonstrates by sitting on the basin. _

"Oh Yey!"_ I giggle abashed. Me should have seen that! The lad smiles as he stands and walks out the room. He quietly clicks the door shut behind him._

_Me imagination turns back to the looking glass. The face of the child be streaked with tears. Me imagines him to be strong and ruddy. Me sees the ghosts of history peering out at me. Paul is standing hence. The child... his woe hath overwhelmed him._

_Me sees the hands as an elder man stoops and groans to scoop up the child. Just as an young girl's rag doll, he carries the limp boy back to the room and tucks him back to bed. He leaves this child to be, as the lad keeps watch over him. He folds his hands to pray. It is silent for an eternity when me suddenly hears something?_

"All creatures of our God and King."_ He begins to... sing?_

_Yes, I know this. _"Lift up your voice and with us sing."

"Alleluia, Alleluia."

"Alle..." _The young man looks at me and smiles._

"Joy to the world, the Lord has come."

_Yes, _"Let earth receive her king." _He doth rest to let me assay to join._

"Let every heart prepare him room."

"And heaven and nature sing,"

"And heaven and nature sing,"

_He is thus sings faster than me._ "And hea - heaven and heaven and nature sing"

"Believe yeh, yee thinks he cometh quickly?"

"You mean Jesus?" _The lad is smiling._ "I sure hope so!"

"Yey. Thus me prayed when Paul and Pinions chased Patrick and me-self into the ship, heretofore me regiment's reinforcement set sail for the Bay colony aft the destruction of the tay in thee harbor."

"The Boston Tea Party... It took a couple of months to get here, didn't it?"

"Yey, We fell deathly ill and pray that the scourge nay kill us, nor... war, but only if be the Lord's will."

"So, you knew it was coming?"

"How to avoid thus? The colonists be bitter and the king be stubborn... and the soldiers? We pray our consecration unto His Grander Army."

"Hum..."

_**Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever Thou hast have formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, Thou art God.**_

"_**Thou turnest man to destruction and sayest; return, oh ye children of men. For a thousand years in Thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night."**_

* * *

_This short story is a "one shot" and I really have no plans to add to it at this point. If readers are interested though, somewhere down the road, I may write the longer "back story / historical novella" behind these redcoats. _


	2. Chapter 2 Jonathan friend of David

_This didn't originally start out as a "fan fic" but as a back story to another project. When I was ten, I'd gotten "in to" the American Revolution and started writing this story. It didn't have a name at the time and now is very different than the one-shots you're seeing today. Some of the story material was the same though and for the most part, many of the characters were the same._

* * *

_This particular one-shot sprung out of some of the research I did too. Namingly, I'd discovered that the British army had very few problems with adultery, and other various forms of fornication amongst the ranks and camp followers. _

_Interesting, why was this - you may ask?_

_Simple - the soldiers had a very affective way of policing each other's behavior. If you messed with another man's wife or daughter, your fellow soldiers just executed you! The officers rarely did much investigating of these types of killings in the ranks. They just figured that if he couldn't control himself, he deserved what he got! _

_Naughty redcoat = dead redcoat!_

_Harsh by our standards, but apparently very effective! _

* * *

_Admittedly, parts of this are a little dry, because they were originally penned as background information for another project. Same characters as "Redcoat in Fenway Park", but this isn't written in the same linguistic style. It's written in modern language. _

_Warning: story contains tough subject material and one "f-bomb". Also, my advanced apologias to the French people, for my British General's prejudice. _

* * *

**Jonathan the Friend of David**

In 1773, Paul returned to London with Major Mims. They made the trip to retrieve William, who was in an orphanage. William was the son of another soldier who'd died of an illness about six months after Paul had arrived in Boston, way back in 1770. This other soldier had saved the Major's life in the French and Indian War. So the Major felt indebted to this man and promised to take care of his child. This other soldier had become Paul's friend.

William, the child was in London. His mother died in childbirth and his paternal grandmother took care of him till he was 8 years old, in which she died of complications due to old age. William spent roughly 1.5 years in an orphanage. The Major paid for the best orphan house they could find for him, till he was 9ish. When the Major's own father died, he took Paul as an orderly and they caught a merchant transport back to England to get William.

When they'd arrived at the orphanage, William begged the Major to take his friend Patrick too. Patrick was about a year older than William, and even more eager for adventure! So, with little more persuasion needed, they became two of the Major's musicians. Major Mims spent about six months in London, settling the affairs of his father's estate and setting his sister up with an aunt, so she could attend school. In the hours the Major was not consumed by other tasks, he spent time with these boys. He taught William how to play the drum, fife, oboe and fiddle and Patrick how to play drum, bugle, cello and another instrument the Major had taking a liking too during the Seven Years War, the Native American flute.

Paul had made friends with another garrison soldier who was left behind in London when his regiment was sent to India. This soldier had been very ill, so once he recovered, instead of sending him along to India, he was reassigned to one of the regiments headed to America. His name was Pinions.

* * *

_**Widow Augusta (Gussie) Meibalm: **_

They all returned to the colonies in early 1774, just after the Boston Tea Party. Paul had returned to a part time "job" working as a handyman / laborer for an older widow who had befriended him in the streets of Boston, after he helped her up when she'd slipped on the ice. He'd chop wood and help the woman with her garden. Widow Meibalm had become a valued companion of Paul's. She'd invite him in for tea, biscuits and they'd play chess, talk about politics, life and the Bible. Widow Meibalm was in her early 60's, yet still quite a hearty soul.

Gussie was neutral in this conflict, yet her adult children tended more toward the patriot cause. Of her surviving offspring, she had a son and two daughters. The son and one daughter lived in New York City and the remaining daughter lived with her in Boston. Her children were all 30 to 40 years old. The youngest daughter, Margaret was 31 and never married. She worked as a private tutor for a wealthy family on the other side of town.

Gussie was always teasing both Paul and Margaret about how she'd "found" each of them a nice spouse. Now if she could just get Margaret to accept Paul and Paul to desert the army - life would be grand! Margaret was very settled and happy in her teaching career and had absolutely no interest in a British soldier that was 11 years her junior. She was civil to Paul though and did agree to lend some of her expertise and schooling materials for use by William and Patrick. Paul would bring them in with him two to three evenings a week and sit them in front of the fire to work on lessons. This became their agreement, Paul primarily, did work in exchange for their education.

A few months or so had passed when Paul had obtained one more student for Margaret's evening classes. This boy's name was Jonathan. Jonathan was 12 when he came to their regiment from another. He was an exceptionally attractive, yet terribly troubled child. Like most military band members, he'd play at officer and civilian parties.

Than one night a scandal broke in the officers' club. One of the army's young musicians was found dead in a bedroom at one of these galas. After having been sodomized several times that evening, the boy hung himself from the bed post with his drum strap. He was Jonathan's best friend and he was 12 years old too.

Jonathan lost it that evening and out of his own humiliation, he hid in a wardrobe. When a Lieutenant finally found him, he was too frightened to tell the man what was going on. So, this officer sent for another officer, and - in walked a Brigadier General, followed by a Colonel and a Major. The General was stout but robust, as he strode deliberately across the room toward the terrified drummer cowering in the corner of the wardrobe. He let out a hard sigh as he squatted down and stared at the child.

"This is the British army, not the French army!" He growled angrily at the boy. "_**WE**_ _**don't**_... _fuck_ each other." He whispered as he leaned into the wardrobe. _"I want a name." _Hecontinued._ "Who's responsible? Who did this to you and who let it happen?" _

Jonathan couldn't respond. He just sat crunched up, trying to make himself as small as possible, whimpering helplessly. The General waited for several minutes before he let out another sigh and stood up. He looked at the men behind him.

"You're a Drum Major!" He bellowed at the Major as he jabbed his finger toward the crying child huddled in the wardrobe.

"Not my regiment Sir!" Came the response, loud, clear and with conviction. "Certain parties, I'm never asked to provide music for Sir."

"So you knew this was happening?" The General questioned irefully.

"I'd heard rumors Sir." The Major answered.

"Colonel?" The General turned to the man behind him and pointed at the Major.

"No Sir, I know it's not him, but I have a pretty good idea who _**is**_ responsible." The Colonel answered before he too turned to the Major. "You try, maybe he'll talk to you?" He gestured to the boy.

The Major walked over and gently knelt down on the floor. He put his hand on Jonathan's head, suddenly realizing how beautifully soft his hair was. Jonathan started screaming, flailing his arms, banging his head on the side of the wardrobe and furiously pulling his own hair.

"OK, OK. I won't touch you." The Major sighed as he quickly pulled his hand away.

"What's your name?" He tried a different approach, fighting vehemently with his own need to just scoop the child up and make it all better. When the boy wouldn't respond though, the Major let out another sigh and a quiet prayer. "Lord, what do I do now?"

When he glanced back at the boy, he noticed the child was peeking at him. "What's your name?" He asked with a sad smile.

"Jonathan." The boy whimpered.

"Oh, Jonathan, That's out of the Bible. He was the friend of one of the kings in Israel. Did you know that?"

The boy nodded.

"Jonathan, I know this is hard, but you've got to tell me the truth." The major tread lightly as he rested an uneasy hand on Jonathan's shoulder. "Did your Drum Major know about this?"

Yes, Jonathan nodded.

His response hung silently in the air.

"Who's his Drum Major?" The General asked gruffly.

"23rd regiment is Philips." The Major answered.

"Anybody have their pistol?" The General growled as he patted his mid-section in search of his own. He turned to his Colonel.

"No, I don't." The Colonel answered.

"I do." The Major responded as he pulled his weapon from beneath his coat.

"Charges?" The General asked.

"I know where there are some." The Colonel volunteered.

"Good!" The General responded as he took the Major's piece and handed it over to the Colonel. "Take care of this problem."

"Yes Sir!" The Colonel answered, almost gleefully.

The Colonel and the few others who'd gathered around quietly filed out of the room. The General only stood there a minute or so more as the Major suddenly realized he was about to have a frightened little boy in his lap.

"Major?" The General inquired.

"Yes Sir." The Major answered.

"What's your name?"

"Mims Sir, Herbert Mims."

"Well congratulations Major." The General huffed empathetically as he turned and walked out of the room. "You just inherited another drummer."

The Major sat for a long while with Jonathan's wiry little arms wrapped around his middle. Times reminiscent of all the sick, wounded, dying and distraught soldiers he'd sat with over the years. The Major had seen some horrendous things, but he'd never seen anything quite like this! He thought about his friend, the Indian chief who sat in mourning for days with a daughter who'd been brutally raped and mutilated. Little did he ever imagine that the next rape victim he'd sit with would be a 12 year old drummer boy in his own army. Something about that was just perverse beyond words.

Ten minutes later they heard the shot from outside.

Jonathan peered up at his new Drum Major. He wanted to thank the man, but he still couldn't open his mouth. Purge the wickedness from the land, were the only thoughts going through the Major's head. The colony's courts would have to deal with the civilian perpetrators, but at least they could do something about the military ones - and that they did!

"His name was David." Jonathan finally whispered what few words he could choke out.

"The king, yes you're right. His name was David." The Major smiled kindly.

"No, not the king." Jonathan mumbled as the tears began to gather in his eyes again.

"Oh." The Major suddenly caught his breath. "You mean the boy in the other room."

As it was later uncovered; Major Philips was "pimping" the boys of his regiment.

* * *

_**The "Deserter": **_

Just after the skirmishes of Lexington and Concord, widow Meibalm had fallen ill. She died only two weeks later and Margaret decided to sell her house and move in with her sister, who'd just moved with her husband and family to Charleston NC. Margaret still wasn't fond of the British army per say, but she and Jonathan had grown quite attached to each other. Major Mims knew there would be more conflicts, so he, Paul and Margaret hatched a secret scheme.

Early one morning, about an hour before revelry, the night watch came and woke Jonathan. It wasn't his turn to perform revelry, but the watch told him that the Major was looking for him. He didn't really want to get up, but Paul told the watch, that he'd make sure Jonathan was out there in a couple of minutes. Paul knew something must be "going down", so he got up too. They got dressed, left the berthing area and walked across the parade ground to where the guard's staging was. There they met the Major.

The Major took Jonathan outside of the gate to where his horse was tied and Paul followed.

"So Sir, what are we in for?" Paul asked.

"The rebels have been building fortifications over on Breed's hill all night." The Major answered as he mounted his horse.

"Oh." Paul replied as he started to pick Jonathan up.

The Major grabbed the boy's ankle as the two men slid him onto the horse in front of the Major. Much to Jonathan's surprise, Paul kissed the said of his face before he let him go. Jonathan just sat there, looking kind of strangely at Paul as Paul went to hand the Major Jonathan's head gear. His tall bearskin grenadier hat had fallen off.

"Do you want this Sir?" Paul asked the Major.

"No." The Major just shook his head.

This made Jonathan even more nervous, but he didn't say a word.

"God speed!" Paul wished them both.

"Yes, may the Lord be with you too, on the morrow, come this battle." The Major responded as he wrapped one arm around his drummer and they were off.

The horse galloped it's way through Boston as they transversed a couple of small bridges and headed up a hill toward some goodly estate homes. Jonathan was starting to get a bit frightened by now, but kept telling himself that Major Mims was not like this other drum major. He'd been in this regiment for a little more than a year now and no-one had treated him lecherously.

The horse trotted up a cobblestone carriage path and a man, who looked to be a slave, opened the gate. The two riders proceeded to the front walk, where another slave stood and several others waited on the porch. Jonathan did all he could to hold back the tears while the slave removed his leather spats and the major pulled his regimental coat off him. He watched the slave stuff his army accouterments into one of the major's saddle bags, as the major slid his hand behind Jonathan's knee and gave him a bit of a push. He tumbled off the horse into the slave's arms and once the man set him on the ground, he saw her striding toward him. Out of the front door came Miss Margaret Meibalm.

Jonathan was so overwhelmed with relief that he burst into tears as he went running toward her. His lovely teacher friend, who; (once Paul had told her what had actually happened) promised him no one would ever hurt him again. Jonathan clung to her and sobbed.

Despite it being the middle of June, Jonathan found himself shivering. He looked down at his arms and the white clothing that covered his entire body, except his black shoes. Then he suddenly jumped to his feet and looked all around. The Major was long gone and Jonathan suddenly realized, he was no longer in the army.

* * *

After the battle, William and Patrick saw the Major and asked if he knew where Jonathan was. They were looking for him. The Major told them that he had been killed. The both started to cry a bit and then went to look for his body amongst the dead, but never did find it.

They later came back to Paul, who was a little scratched up, but survived the battle well enough. They asked him if he thought Jonathan was cowardly enough to desert?

"No..._** he**_ wasn't." Paul replied.

William and Patrick just looked at each other.

Do you think he's on his way to North Carolina? Their thoughts seemed to echo each other's.

Two days later they'd managed to sneak away to see if Miss Margaret's house was really empty. Sure enough there was nothing there. Lost in their own thoughts, questions and disbelief they both plopped down on the wooden slat bench that had been built right into the porch. Neither could really believe Margaret or Jonathan were gone, but maybe it really was better for him in the end? Jonathan was a miserable boy and only Miss Margaret's smile seemed to cheer him.

They could still hear widow Meibalm laughing the first time Margaret met Jonathan. Both William and Patrick had been stacking wood for her when she'd invited them in for some tea and biscuits.

Margaret had gone from the kitchen to go upstairs when the three left behind heard her holler from the parlor.

"Oh good heaven's mother. You've even got a redcoat on the floor in here!"

"What? I do?" Widow Meibalm started to giggle as she got up to investigate.

William and Patrick followed her into the parlor and sure enough, there was Jonathan asleep on the floor in front of the hearth.

"Well, look at you!" The widow giggled all the more. "Don't you give a new meaning to the term quartering act!"

William and Patrick got up to leave when William suddenly realized he'd kicked something. They'd both bent down to see what it was and discovered a basket tucked under the seat. William bent over to pull it out and they both opened it up. Inside the basket was full of biscuits and other treats. On the top was a note. It read:

**_Sweets for the sweetest boys I've ever known._**

**_You were some of the best students I've ever had and I will never forget you, sitting on the floor in front of mamma's hearth bent over your lessons in your little red coats._**

**_May the Lord be with you and protect you in this war._**

**_I pray for you every day and Paul too. Yet do not fear, for one day we will meet again. One day in the eternal land of peace._**

**_In the Love of Christ_**

**_Your sister and teacher_**

_**Miss Margaret Meibalm.**_

On the back was the scrawled, broken and shaky writing they recognized as Jonathan's. It said:

_** To: **_

_**William Patrick Paul**_

_** I love you**_


	3. Chapter 3 Paul & John -John Quincy Adams

_Another "fic" that wasn't originally written as a "fic", but as part of another project. This one though is written in Old English style. As far as the language goes, I think it's a bit closer to colonial English than "Redcoat in Fenway Park", but still written in that style._

_So here we have Paul, (one of my fictitious soldiers) running into a real historical figure; John Quincy Adams. The dating of this is - Boston, somewhere in the few months just before the outbreak of the war. From this we see some of "the sons of liberty" from the vanish point of Paul's own experience. Remember, colonial Boston was not as "war zones" we consider today. Unless they were "called to arms" for some reason, British soldiers did not walk through the streets with weapons. _

* * *

**Paul and John **

Twas only betwixt 8 and 9 o'clock, but it still be a dreadfully cold night. I hath left Pinions in the pub. He aught found himself some... "company"; Yes, ire but nare the matter of company I please.

Many times he made his sport of me. "Paul, ye be too clean. This war, it will befall all us and ye will die this way!" Yea but Lord, so did you! So, I am not alone. And yea, I do discern there be more of me in this here army than this here army is at want to admit to! So be it. I say, is the only write of Almighty God men have the... "free will" to disobey and live. Yet many more is there who have perished in their presumptuous "going forth to be fruitful and multiply". So... leave Paul alone!

That be as it is, I walk back to the garrison and the cowardice rabble, they jump out of the darkest corners. "Oooh lonesome lobster crawl up out of the harbor." There from thence they launch their lascivious and vile insults. And all of the like they wish to do unto me. So they chase me, throwing rocks all the way to seventh street. Heretofore I jump a wall and quick hide on an old widow's back porch.

I knew her though. She was an aged German / Dutch woman I worked a whit for. I be a mite surprised, the widow Meibalm be still awake. She come to the door and sheltered me of the remaining hours of the night. These lawless rabble that be out looking for plain mischief and soldiers to haunt.

So she look at me: "Was ist hier los? Du bleed all over meine kitchen younge mann. Paul what happen to you?"

I no wish too, but me loose me temper and yell at her. Then I tell her sorry. "Is these sons of liberty, these hypocrites! They pitch their fits about autonomy and freedom. They demand of us, that we give them their lives, yet they want to take mine? Criminals and anarchists; that's all they are! Get me musket. I shoot them all!"

"Calm down Paul." She tell me: "I know they hurt you."

"Yea and I did nothing to them!. In the name of God, I've done all I can to be fair. I've stolen nothing. I've defrauded no one. I even try to be courteous."

She say: "I know Paul. It's not the person you are, it's the uniform you wear."

So I ask her: "Yea, but don't they see it. They throw off the authority of one king, but do they think this colony is going to run it's self, with _**no**_ government? They say they want representation in parliament, when half of England is at want for the same thing. I don't have representation in parliament, but no one asks me what I want!

She look at me: "Oh Paul."

"Sit down, you poor thwarted soul. Have a cup of tea." Ehhh, ih, thank you but I'm not really feelin like a cup of tea. Tis not of me best choosen to be spendin the rest of me even with a chamber pot. So, I put me head on the table and I try not to cry. What else am I suppose to do.

I awaken nigh mornin on her kitchen floor. The fire has gone cold and the cat is sniffing me. What is this, he's too big to be a mouse, but maybe - he sort of smells like mackerel. I don't know. Too many hours of working the docks and watchin the sea, I suppose. Paul, it's time ye be taking a bath.

I get up, and they soon send me on me way with some bread and jam and something warm to drink. I walk back to the garrison and show me face to the watch; so they know I didn't run off. I go from there to the barracks. Get washed, find me a clean shirt and new coat, then ready me-self for church.

Is a small church, just the skip of a few streets from the garrison. The people there know me though. I find it funny to see them placate their ruffled visitors. That's not really a redcoat, that's just Paul. Yes, God hath chosen His people from the foundations of the world, of every kindred, tribe, tongue and... army. You don't like his coat, just pretend it's... purple, or something.

So I come in and after a whit of time, I find me a place sit. Betwixt me self and an older lady is a gentleman I have nare seen before. He is not objecting to me, but he does notice me; as it doth seem that in some way, I am familiar to him.

I don't pay him much mind, but when the Vicker prays, I feel the dearth in me soul. He says it's good to pray for our leaders. Is of quite a surprise to me. He prays for the king. He prays for peace and for the will of God to be done on earth as it is in heaven. Yes, is all I think, may it be Your will they don't murder me.

When the service is past, this man bids me peace. I thank him. He ask me name and tells me I remind him of someone. Someones really, people he represented in court a few years yore. He told me I looked as frightened as they. I didn't really know what to say. So I just tell him we aught to fear God not men. He says yes, and pray for those who oppose us. Then he tell me he would pray for me and ask me to pray for these... colonies.

I only stand there... for such a long time. I first couldn't find the words to say anything. Finally I ask him: "Sir, what is your name?"

He tell me: "John,... John Quincy Adams".

* * *

_For those who may not know their history as well. John Quincy Adams was the defense lawyer for the soldiers and the officer who outside the custom's house that fateful evening of March 5th 1770; the event known to the British as "the Boston riots" yet deemed in American history as "the Boston Massacre". _

_Eight soldiers had been arrested after 7 people were hit and 5 of them died of gunshot wounds. Two soldiers were released, on account of it could be proven their weapons never discharged. Six soldiers, as well as the duty officer of that evening, were put on trial. The trial took place 8 months later. They were all tried for murder and all plead self defense. Four of the soldiers and their duty officer were acquitted, two were found guilty of manslaughter. All six soldiers weapons had discharged, but only the two that were convicted of manslaughter had shot directly into the crowd (thus why they were convicted of manslaughter). _

_At the advisement of John Adams, the two who'd been convicted, plead "right of the clergy" to avoid being executed. "Right of the clergy" was an old English law that took clerics accused of civil crime out of the civil courts to be tried by the church. When this law was first instituted back in the middle ages, only clergy could read; so "right of the clergy" meant that you proved your cleric status by reading a Bible passage. Later this law was opened up to anyone who could read and since these two soldiers were semi-literate, this "right of clergy" was open to them._

_Seems odd yes? What does "right of clergy" have to do with British soldiers? Nothing really, but I think John Quincy Adams had enough foresight to see that if these men, who really were innocent of murder, were executed - that would be really bad for everyone all the way around. Would the crown have moved in to physically remove these soldiers before the colony's court could carry out their sentence? And what if the crown set a precedence and let them be executed for the sake of appeasing the colonies of their own right to self govern? That certainly wouldn't be justice, especially when they really were acting in self defense. Allowing that to happen would have only elevated the conflict on account of the fact that what ever other soldiers who were stationed there would now be further afraid of being murdered. _

_Also showing these men could get a fair trial in the colony's courts, proved to the crown that colonies hadn't degenerated into a form of anarchy that would have required immediate action. This was the greatest fear of many of the neutral and loyalist people, that once the rebellion was over and the British army left, there'd be nothing but anarchy. Some of these fears were realized post Revolution. The war created mass amount of refugees fleeing into Canada and back to England and in the first years following the end of the war, the new American government was faced with having to put down rebellions in certain places. _

_So yes, thus is the point of view of our redcoat Paul here. _


End file.
